“I do indeed, sir.”

    “taken, and you kno me, and not t of love of  ill be dear. Your mind is my treasure, and if it  reasure still: if you raved, my arms s a strait coat—your grasp, even in fury,   least as fond as it rictive. I s s as I did from  moments you sc me; and I could iring tenderness, turn; and never o your eyes, tion for me.—But rain of ideas? I alking of removing you from t departure: to-morros miseries and terrors for ever! I o repair to, rusion—even from falsehood and slander.”

    “And take Adèle errupted; “she will be a companion for you.”

    “ do you mean, Jane? I told you I o sc do I   my o o me for a companion?”

    “You spoke of a retirement, sir; and retirement and solitude are dull: too dull for you.”

    “Solitude! solitude!” erated ation. “I see I must come to an explanation. I don’t knoo sude. Do you understand?”

    I s required a degree of courage, excited as o risk t mute sign of dissent.  about topped, as if suddenly rooted to one spot.  me long and urned my eyes from ried to assume and maintain a quiet, collected aspect.

    “Nocer,”  last, speaking more calmly ted o speak. “t I al and a puzzle:  is. Noion, and exasperation, and endless trouble! By God! I long to exert a fraction of Samson’s strengtanglement like tow!”

    soon again stopped, and time just before me.

    “Jane! , I’ll try violence.”  of a man  to burst an insufferable bond and plunge o  in anot, and us of frenzy more, I so do not—time—rol and